The Moor Read online

  It is understood that the boys had tried to use fallen branches to cross the river at a narrow point at the base of Stallion Tor. Police say one of their packs was recovered from the bank next to the makeshift crossing.

  ‘That river is fast, a lot faster than most people realise,’ said Inspector Daniel Rodgers. ‘It’s likely that one of the boys fell in and the other went in after to try to rescue him, and the current swept them away. It’s a real tragedy.’

  Perry and Samuels were out camping in Rutmoor – a place they were familiar with after completing the 13 Peaks Challenge there together while at school at Plymouth Comprehensive – for a long weekend.

  ‘I don’t understand how it could have happened,’ Perry’s father Roger told the Daily Herald. ‘Both of them knew the terrain well; they’d been all over that moor while they were at school training for their 13 Peaks event.

  ‘I just don’t understand why they would have tried to make such a dangerous crossing in the first place. They were taught about the dangers at school, they would have known what was safe and what wasn’t.’

  *

  From the Yeovil Daily Post, 6 April 1998

  Yeovil’s ‘cat serial killer’ strikes again: decapitated Persian is latest victim in series of bizarre pet murders

  The decapitated body of a 2-year-old Persian cat was left on its owner ’ s doorstep in what local animal safety officers are calling ‘ a depraved and deliberate act of violence calculated to cause distress ’ .

  The killing is the latest in a string of brutal cat murders that has left Yeovil residents locking their pets up indoors to keep them from wandering the streets at night.

  72-year-old Mr Terry Patrick, the owner of the Persian and Yeovil resident for over 40 years, said he was ‘devastated’.

  ‘I opened the front door in the morning to let Jonesy in – I’d been meaning to put a cat flap in but he normally likes to wander at night and I hadn’t gotten round to it yet – and when I walked out onto the front step I seen him lying there in front of me.’

  ‘It was just his body and his head was missing but I knew it was him, he’s got this little dark splodge of black on his left leg and I knew it was him.’

  Mr Patrick said the discovery left him feeling ‘ill for days’.

  ‘I reported it to the police and I just hope they catch the person that did it, so no one else has to see what I saw,’ he said. ‘My wife passed away three years ago and I got Jonesy because the house felt too empty.’

  ‘I’m devastated, to be completely honest with you.’

  The Yeovil Animal Safety and Rescue Centre have issued a warning to residents, advising them to keep their pets locked up indoors at night.

  ‘We’ve had reports of mutilated cats turning up for several weeks now,’ said a spokesperson. ‘We believe it could be the work of the same individual, or individuals, and we’d advise anyone in the Yeovil area to keep a close eye on their pets.’

  Last week on Wednesday, the Daily Post reported on a 5-year-old cat that had been found with its stomach slit open and some of its organs removed. The week before, two more cats were found dead with their throats cut; one of them was missing a tail and the other was missing its front paw.

  A spokesperson from Avon and Somerset Constabulary confirmed they are working with the RSPCA to investigate reports surrounding suspicious animal deaths in the area, and that an investigation is underway.

  Dr Timothy Flagstaff, a lecturer in Criminology at the University of Bristol, said the evidence could suggest the work of a serial killer.

  ‘These reports are very concerning,’ he said. ‘The extreme violence of the killings coupled with the missing body parts – which could be being kept as trophies – suggests an individual with a disturbing lack of empathy.’

  ‘When we look into the cases of well-known serial killers or psychopaths, these individuals have often committed acts of violence towards animals in their teenage years,’ he continued.

  ‘What may start as a thrill for the individual in question gradually loses its effect over time, which often leads to the criminal taking greater risks to recreate their initial excitement.’

  James (2002)

  1

  When James Tramper looked around the campfire, he had a brief moment of unreality. Unreality, was that the right word? Maybe not, but he couldn’t think of a better one, and his gran always told him that if you didn’t have the right words you had to make do.

  They were sat in a circle around the fire. The area they were camped in was large and sprawling, with tents of various colours and shapes spread out across an open field. The light was just going out of the day, and James could see other people huddled around fires in the distance, drinking from cans or mugs as they sat on the grass or in fold-out green camping chairs. His own little group of six had finished eating not long before, and James could still feel the remains of his boil-in-the-bag chilli con carne sloshing around in his stomach. He’d only managed to eat half of it in the end – partly because he was nervous about the coming weekend and partly because it tasted disgusting – which had prompted a predictable dig from Gary.

  ‘Finally going on a diet are you, Tramper?’ he’d said, loud enough so the whole group could hear.

  James had done his best not to look embarrassed.

  In the half-hour since the food had been finished, a sleepy silence had fallen as his friends stretched out and shuffled closer to the fire. Gary was on his left, his long legs folded awkwardly beneath his body; Matt and Tom were to his right, laughing about something or other, their heads close together as they spoke in half-whispers. And across the fire, which was just catching and beginning to give off tendrils of smoke, were Tim and his father.

  Tim.

  The New Boy, as Gary still insisted on calling him.

  Tim wasn’t actually that new anymore – he’d joined Oaksmith Secondary School about halfway through Year 8, maybe just after Christmas – but they didn’t often get new kids coming into their school during term time. James guessed that made Tim the new boy.

  And besides, he still felt like the new boy.

  There was something about Tim that was sort of absent –stand-offish, James’ gran might have said – that made him hard to get to know.

  With someone like Gary, he’d just come up and punch you on the arm or make some stupid joke and that would be that, friends for fucking life as Gary liked to put it, but Tim seemed to give off this aura that meant you couldn’t joke around with him in the same way you could with the others.

  James remembered a day earlier in the year – one of many schooldays that seemed to meld together into a blur of forgettable lessons and too-short lunchtimes spent hanging around on the field or walking to the cafe to get chips – when Tim had wandered up to their little group during break.

  At that point he wasn’t someone James would have thought of as a friend (not that he really is now, either, a part of his mind added), but the new boy didn’t know anyone else and James’ gran had made a point of asking them to look out for him.

  ‘Mr Stevens says his son’s very shy,’ she’d said one night over dinner. ‘It might be nice if you kept an eye on him – it’s no fun starting at a new place where you don’t know anyone.’

  She’d looked up at James and fixed him with her blue eyes as she said this, and James knew that when she said It might be nice what she really meant was You’d just better get on and do it or I’ll be cross.

  James’ gran had met Mr Stevens at their local church. Like all of the parents, she had taken a shine to him. He was charming and polite, and seemed to have no trouble meeting new people.

  His son was a different story.

  He’d come up to them during that not-so-distant break, a tall and brittle boy with skin that looked like it had never seen the sun, and instead of saying anything he’d just stood there at the edge of their group and stared at them.

  James and Matt had mumbled hello and Tom had nodded before going back to his
bag of potato wedges. But Gary had stared at Tim with a curled smile on his face. He had that look in his eye he sometimes got before he dead-legged James out of the blue or called him a new nickname for the first time. A sort of hungry look.

  ‘You alright, mate?’ said Gary. He stared at Tim with false concern on his face, and then glanced around the circle at the rest of them. He shot a wink at Tom and then looked back at Tim, who was staring at him without saying anything.

  ‘I said are you alright mate?’

  For a few long seconds Tim still didn’t say anything, and James had to stare down at the ground to stop from feeling awkward. Finally, Tim shrugged.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Really? Cuz you don’t look fine. You look like you’ve just swallowed a mouthful of piss.’

  Gary spluttered laughter. Matt rolled his eyes and Tom shook his head, smiling.

  Gary was just warming up. He now had an eager half-grin on his face that James knew all too well: it was the look he got when he was really ripping into James over something, that slightly predatory smile that was half a joke and half something more serious.

  ‘I mean you really don’t look well, mate,’ said Gary. ‘Maybe you should visit the school nurse or something, have a little sit down. It’s overwhelming coming to a new school, isn’t it? All these new people.’

  Gary made his face into an exaggerated pout and looked at Tim, who stared back without saying anything or dropping this gaze.

  Gary’s smile faltered slightly.

  ‘Hey, what the fuck’s your problem, anyway?’ he said. ‘Can’t you talk?’

  Tim regarded Gary through eyes that were a very light brown. Almost orange, James remembered thinking. ‘What’s your problem with me?’ Tim said.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I said what’s your problem with me?’ Tim’s face was a pale blank. His voice was steady.

  Gary looked confused for a moment. James stole a quick glance at Tom and Matt, but Tom was concentrating on his potato wedges and Matt’s eyes were fixed on something on the ground.

  ‘No problem,’ Gary muttered. ‘It’s just you wander over here and stand there without saying anything and it’s sort of weird, mate.’ Gary paused. With what looked to James like a real effort, he forced a grin back onto his face. ‘It’s like you’re some kind of homo or something.’

  This time no one laughed. Gary glanced round the circle for support, but everyone else was looking at the floor. Tim still hadn’t dropped his gaze.

  ‘How’s that?’ he said.

  ‘How’s what?’

  ‘Well, how does coming over and standing here make me a homo, exactly?’

  Gary met Tim’s gaze for a moment longer and then he looked away and mumbled something at the floor. James felt a sudden wave of affection for the new boy. After a few seconds of silence Matt turned to Tim and asked him about where he’d been to school before Oaksmith, and Gary scowled and asked James about the slice of pizza he owed him.

  And that had been that.

  In his own strange, silent way, Tim had become a part of their group.

  2

  ‘Has everyone marked their maps?’

  Mr Stevens’ quiet, sharp voice rang out over the campfire and put a stop to the mumbled conversation.

  He was sitting directly opposite James on one of those green folding chairs the campsite hired out for £5 a pop, putting him higher up than the rest of them.

  The light from the growing fire shivered and jumped in front of his face as he glanced at each of them in turn.

  Mr Stevens had a long, thin face framed by rectangular glasses. His hair was short, dark and always carefully combed and parted. James thought he looked like the most ‘dad’ dad in the world. With his neat haircut and pale, clean-shaven face he seemed to James like a nerdy embodiment of everything a typical middle-aged man should look like. His eyes, like his son’s, were a pale brown, and like Tim’s they also had a habit of lingering awkwardly when he looked at you.

  Now Mr Stevens reached into the walking bag by the side of his chair and drew out a clear plastic pouch, which he unzipped to take out his map.

  He reached his other hand down and placed it on Tim’s shoulder who, without saying anything, opened his own bag and did the same.

  James found himself picking out his own map without even realising he was doing it.

  ‘Did we all need to mark our maps then?’ asked Tom. He was sitting with one arm leaned casually on his raised left knee, his long right leg stretched out in front of him so his foot was near the fire.

  ‘Yes, everyone should have the route marked out before we set off,’ said Mr Stevens.

  James heard Gary let out a sigh. It was quiet, almost under his breath, but Mr Stevens’ head swivelled in his direction just the same.

  ‘Did you say something, Gareth?’

  Gary sighed again, louder this time. ‘Nah, it’s just that, well, do we really all need to mark it out? I mean we’re not all going to be navigating, are we?’

  ‘I hope you’re not going to be navigating,’ grinned Tom. ‘We’d never get out of the car park.’

  Gary scowled. ‘We’re only doing, what, 60 odd miles in three days? It’s not like Rutmoor’s the Amazon forest—’

  ‘Rainforest,’ muttered James, quiet enough so Gary wouldn’t hear.

  ‘And besides,’ continued Gary, ‘We’ll probably never be more than a couple of miles from a path.’

  He tilted his head back and rubbed his chin. It was a habit James noticed he’d copied from his father a while ago, and James found himself thinking It’s less impressive when you don’t even have any stubble yet you idiot. He knew if he ever said that Gary would come back at him with something worse, though, so he kept quiet.

  There was silence for a few seconds, and then Mr Stevens cleared his throat. Tim shot a glance up at his father, then looked back into the fire.

  ‘Timothy, pass Gareth your map,’ he said.

  Tim handed the map over to Gary, who took it with another, more audible sigh.

  ‘If you look at the route, Gareth, you’ll see that we’re actually travelling to an area of the moor that’s probably the furthest in the park from any roads. We’re carving out west tomorrow and then heading up north, and by Saturday – assuming we’re on course – we’ll be a good 10 miles or so from the nearest bit of civilisation.’

  James glanced over at Matt, who raised his eyebrows and gave James a half-guilty smile before looking away again.

  It was Matt who’d convinced James to come on the trip.

  James couldn’t remember exactly where the idea had come from or who’d first suggested it, but one day it seemed to be all their parents were talking about. They thought it’d do the boys good, apparently, and they were keen for them all to go with Mr Stevens. Probably they just wanted them to take a break from sitting in a dark room at Gary’s and playing GTA III on his PS2 all day, James thought.

  Either way, he hadn’t been at all keen at first.

  He’d made the mistake of sharing his reluctance with Gary.

  ‘For fuck’s sake Tramps, how are you ever going to lose any weight if you don’t do anything other than sitting round scratching your balls all day?’ had been the response.

  Gary wanted to go on the trip because he was keen to get into the 13 Peaks Challenge team next year at school. Year 9 was the first year kids could try out, but it was mainly the Year 11s that ended up getting selected.

  ‘What’s so great about walking all weekend, anyway?’ James had asked, in a last ditch attempt to turn things around.

  Gary rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t give a shit about the walking,’ he said. ‘What I care about – and you might be less interested in this than me, so sorry if I’m boring you – what I care about is a full weekend of walking behind Beth Jacobs in a tight little pair of walking trousers. Or maybe waiting for her at the top of a hill while she bounces up after me.’

  Gary smiled and closed his eyes, as if picturing it. />
  ‘Yep, it’s gonna be good,’ he said. ‘And then when it’s time to set up camp for the night and everyone’s asleep, I’ll wander over and pay her tent a visit.’

  ‘Sure, and then she’ll start screaming.’

  The words were out before James could stop himself, and Gary’s eyes flashed open.

  ‘Don’t fucking start with me, Trumper,’ he whispered. ‘At least I’ve got a chance. She’d take one look at you and throw up in her pretty little mouth.’

  Later that evening, Matt had called James on the phone.

  ‘I’m thinking of going along on this walking trip,’ he said. ‘I know it’s a bit random but my mum won’t stop banging on about it – keeps saying how excited Mr Stevens is and how nice it’ll be for his son to make some new friends – and I’m fed up with listening to her.’

  James knew exactly what Matt meant. Ever since he’d made the mistake of mentioning to his gran that Tim had come up and spoke to them at school, she’d been like a dog with a bone.

  ‘You really should spend some more time with him you know, James,’ she’d said as soon as he told her. ‘Tim’s dad is always saying how shy his son is. You should invite him along to one of your video game nights.’

  James thought about telling his gran that nobody called them video games anymore, but quickly decided against it. Comments like that never seemed to go down too well.

  ‘I could do,’ he mumbled. ‘He seems nice enough, it’s just—’

  ‘Just what?’

  ‘It’s just he’s a bit odd, I guess. He’s sort of quiet.’

  James’ gran was sitting on a chair with a magazine open in her lap. Now she snapped it shut and scowled.

  ‘He’s not odd, James. He’s new to the area, and he doesn’t know anyone, that’s all. He’s just shy.’ She was staring at him now, unblinking, and there was a hard tone creeping into her voice James didn’t much like the sound of. He backtracked quickly.

  ‘I didn’t mean odd, exactly, it’s just… well, he looks sort of unwell, doesn’t he? Kind of tired and stuff, and he doesn’t really say that much…’